


Ghost Town

by Botanophillic_Zombie



Series: Desert Anecdotes [5]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Gen, Hope you enjoy my incredibly niche prose writing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-10
Updated: 2020-09-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:42:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26382835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Botanophillic_Zombie/pseuds/Botanophillic_Zombie
Summary: There was a period of time where the only friend Inya’a knew was the desert.
Relationships: Arizona & California (Hetalia)
Series: Desert Anecdotes [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1915645





	Ghost Town

You’re always alone out there, and I worry about you.

Now you live in the city and visit our witch-brother and sing to the dogs following joyfully at your heels. 

But back then it was you and your hut- its lilting brown wood the only protection from the sun, and the goat you kept for company chewing away at the dead dry shrubs that were destined only to be tumbleweeds. 

You sat out there, weary eyes watching the horizon for the coyotes that would creep. Their eyes furiously rolling back in their heads- mouths frothing, teeth  _ rotting _ . I know you loved all the animals of your home, but there was nothing that you could give to these ones. Nothing but sweet flowers as you propped up your rifle on your shoulder and squinted. 

I didn’t make the mistake of visiting you after the first time, but little ants came crawling from the east, eager to climb the roots and raid the nest I had so carefully crafted for my children. They traveled brashly through your lands, eyes seeing nothing but lush coastline, mouths already dripping with sugar and honey they could just so nearly  _ taste _ . Leaving behind half-eaten corpses and whatever they, in their desperation, decided was deadweight. 

Your goat fed well on their grains. Your coyotes lined the horizon, eyes locked on the coach’s movements. They understood. They followed. They had their fill. 

You would come to me sometimes, when the lead filled bones were too much to bear- and the only sources of water for miles went dry. I still don’t know if the fear in my eyes was a salve or salt to the wound between us. I remember how ragged your voice was, horse and angry, telling me to just  _ keep to myself like you did. _ I tried to say that there was nothing I could do- I was facing a waterfall of my own problems-  _ I didn’t want them either,  _ but all you seemed to notice was that my shoulders didn’t sag as yours did. My clothes were not the same shade of bleached-by-sun.

You retreated back to your own home, dragging your feet over blistering red rocks and squinting with redder eyes. Back to the hastily made cabin of dark wood, back to the fire out behind it. 

And you sat alone, gun on your shoulder and goat’s meat on the fire.

There had been nothing else. 

**Author's Note:**

> I write in a consistent verb tense challenge...
> 
> Well since my biggest hobby is writing things that really can only be fully understood by me and maybe one other person, here’s some context for once!   
> This pov. is María’s(CA.) she’s talking about the part in history where she had (non consensually) joined the union, but Inya’a(AZ.) was still half mexico, half undisputed territory. White settlers traveling through were very hostile towards indigenous people, and often just carelessly went on through their lands with no regards for *cleaning up after themselves*- or the fact that the food they hunted was not theirs to splurge on.
> 
> Thank yoi for reading!


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